


Tears for the Fallen

by pandemonium_213



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Poetry, Pre-Years of the Trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 22:43:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3746333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandemonium_213/pseuds/pandemonium_213
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Melkor was more interested in and capable of dealing with a volcanic eruption, for example, than with (say) a tree. It is indeed probable that he was simply unaware of the minor or more delicate productions of Yavanna: such as small flowers.</em><br/><br/>~ JRR Tolkien in "Myths Transformed", <em>History of Middle-earth vol. X, Morgoth's Ring</em>.</p><p>Written for International Poetry Month, April 2010.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tears for the Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

He rages against the West:   
Stone-hard wrath batters adamantine walls   
Piled high by the pleasance where  
His kin dally and plot.  
Wreathed round his brow  
A hell-wrought storm fumes,   
But a breath of wind blows across the sky  
Rending the wrack through which  
Golden light glimmers and falls fair upon black boots.   
He stays his iron hand  
And does not mend torn clouds  
But lets Anar's light play  
Upon the tortured earth before him.  
  
Bending with the might of mountains,   
He kneels and stares over the precipice of knees,  
Where writhing in the ground before him  
Green shoots struggle in shriveled soil, reaching for the Sun.  
He watches and he listens, the first time in eons   
He has considered a thing so small.  
  
The leaves unfurl in silence,  
But soon they sing with faint melody   
Taking him back to the Origo   
That set all in motion.  
To the Beginning: one spark that gave birth  
To stars, to worlds and to him.  
The leaf-song swells strong  
Sipping jewels of light, gifts from Anar,   
Weaving the Sun into its substance,  
Wheeling with the spiral dance of life.  
  
He seizes the sorrow provoked by hopeful song,  
Seeking its subjugation,  
But his will cannot prevail  
Against bitter loss.  
  
One tear falls and then another;   
Across hardened cheeks they track.  
Upon green growth the wretched dew falls,  
And distilled regret makes fertile the fallow.  
White bells bloom on the touch of his tears,  
And he hears their chimes,   
Calling for him to come home.  
  
He wavers, but shakes off weakness.  
For is he not Melkor, true ruler of Arda, he who arises in might?  
He crushes sweet flowers beneath one foul foot,  
Ground back into the earth whence they came.  
  
But hope does not die so easily.  
After mountains tumble and seas devour,  
And the earth is cleansed,  
White bells bloom again in the spring: 

Tears for the fallen. 


	2. Tears for the Fallen

Thanks to Spiced Wine, Surgical Steel, Beruthiels_cats, Lilith Lessfair, Moreth, and Dawn_Felagund for suggestions and comments.


End file.
